Projectile Points: Ancient Weapons In The Wilderness
By: Dave Zeug
The projectile point found by the author was estimated to be 1,500 years old. Placing it from approximately 300-600 A.D. Photo: Dave Zeug
“Tell me again, why do we live here?” a non-hunting friend sarcastically asked me after listening to a weather forecast predicting incoming quantities of snow for northwest Wisconsin that were better measured in feet than in inches.
I could have explained that with an early November snowstorm followed by a cold front, there’d likely be snow for the upcoming deer season, but it wouldn’t have mattered to him. Or I could have told him that for someone like me, who’s a duck hunter first and a deer hunter second, tomorrow morning in a duck blind could be something special, as the rear guard of the grand passage heads south. Instead, knowing my answer would be insufficient for my friend, I shrugged my shoulders unknowingly and headed home. I had to get ready for the morning.
Dawn broke grudgingly through a leaden sky, while a steady northwest wind, hinting at something worse to come, blew snow flurries across the duck decoys bobbing in front of me. On the lee side of an island, my long line of bluebills stretched into the lake, and a dozen singles rested in the sweet spot near the blind, still leaving room for newcomers. A smattering of goldeneye imposters rested a few yards away, keeping a respectable distance from the others, just like in the real world. A half dozen mallard and a pair of goose decoys sat close to shore. Overhead, flocks of geese drifted south along with waves of swans, another sign the end of fall was near. I’d had more productive duck seasons. But since there’s no such thing as a bad day in a duck blind, it had still been a good season, regardless of the number of birds taken. For a waterfowler though, today held all the expectations that Christmas morning does for a six year old.
The author’s successful harvest after following up on his intuition and the weather report. Photo: Dave Zeug.
I’d barely finished my first cup of pre-shooting hours coffee when the action started. The first arrivals were a trio of bufflehead that followed my long line into the pocket. I picked out a drake, and I then watched as more of these tough little birds swarmed into the spread. A flock of bluebills were next. I managed another double and then a third when the naïve birds swung by for another look. It’s amazing how well you can shoot when you know you’ll have other chances. I watched more divers work the decoys, but didn’t give a pass to a gadwall or the lone mallard that drifted into the set minutes apart. Together they filled my limit. The lone goose struggling against the building wind was just a bonus to an already memorable hunt.
But the day’s real prize was what I saw while picking up my decoys. The sharp white of the arrowhead resting among the dark rocks jumped out at me in the clear, shallow water. Unlike most of the other possible artifacts I’ve picked up over the years, only to find them to be nothing but interestingly shaped rocks, there was no question this was the real thing. I reached into the frigid water and picked up a piece of history, which I found out later was 1,500 years old.
The white projectile point lays where the author found it. Originally thought to be the point of an arrow, it was confirmed to belong to a different type of projectile. Photo: Dave Zeug
I emailed a photo of the projectile point with an accompanying message to Dr. Connie Arzigian, a Senior Research Associate for the Mississippi Valley Archaeology Center at the University of Wisconsin-Lacrosse. “What an exciting find,” Dr. Arzigian replied. “From the size and the shape of the expanded stem (a projectile point that diverges out towards the base), I’d say this was a Steuben Expanded stem point, typical of the Middle Woodland period in Wisconsin, so about 300 to 600 AD. Given the size and age, it was probably used at the end of a dart or spear rather than a bow and arrow. The bow and arrow weren’t in common use until about 800 AD. Because the point was in the water, it might have been washed there from an adjacent site or may have been lost while they were hunting near the water. Does the lake have a history of duck hunting?” Yes, I said, apparently a long one too.
I was surprised to hear it wasn’t an arrowhead, since it looked like what they’re commonly called, so I asked Dr. Arzigian how these original people used a dart. “A dart would be used with an atlatl, a thinner and flexible rod, while a spear shaft was designed to be thrown by itself,” she said. “Bow and arrow points are much smaller, because the arrow shaft is lighter and larger points would be off balance.”
The atlatl, which is essentially a projectile-thrower, was developed in Europe over 30,000 years ago and in North America 12,000 years ago. Some say the atlatl was the first true weapons system, since it had both a projectile and a launching device. The atlatl-throwing device consists of a stick about two feet long, with a handgrip on one end and a spur at the other. The spur is a point that fits into the cavity at the back of a four to six foot long dart with a projectile point at the tip. The dart is suspended parallel to the throwing stick, held by the tips of the fingers at the handgrip and is launched by a sweeping motion similar to a tennis serve.
A drawing of an atlatil in use. The projectile can be similar in size to a javelin or a smaller dart. image: Sebastião da Silva Vieira
Even though I’ve looked often, I’ve only found one other projectile point. That one was memorable too. I was hiking out of a valley along the spine of a ridge on the last day of an elk hunt. Exhausted after five long days of hunting and with a backpack full of meat from the bull I’d shot that morning, I stopped to catch my breath. Standing there gasping for air with my hands on my knees, I looked between my feet and saw the perfect projectile point, proof I wasn’t the only hunter to use that old trail. As I did the other day, I wondered about the hunter who created the point all those years ago and what we had in common. While he hunted for survival and I for more complicated reasons, we shared a passion for the hunt.
The beautiful dawn breaks over the water. Photo: Dave Zeug.
Looking at the projectile point in my hand and the birds I’d taken on this special day marking the transition from fall to winter, I knew the answer to my non-hunting friend who questioned why we live here. The answer’s a simple one; it’s because of days like this.
